“It’d be interesting to see the history of your family,” she lied. “I guess the thought of how we’ll be uniting them intrigues me.”
He cheered up at the suggestion and waddled away to search for said ledger. Eva exhaled gratefully and sought her mother’s entry, looking for clues to whatever brought so much grief to her grandmother.
Dulce Concepción Serrano Monteverde, second daughter of Don Mateo Luis Serrano de Monteverde and Do?a Antonia Josefa Monteverde de Serrano. Born in the year 326 of the King’s Discovery, on the day of Saint Dulce of the Provincials. Full-blooded human. Married to Don Federico Daniel Jáuregui Rangel. Mother of Pura Maria Jáuregui Serrano. Mother of Eva Kesaré de Galeno. Widowed. Died in the year 357 of the King’s Discovery. Cause of death: litio.
Eva chewed on her lip, annoyed. It wasn’t anything she didn’t know already. The next page revealed her own record, which was rather bare:
Eva Kesaré de Galeno, second daughter of Do?a Dulce Concepción Serrano de Jáuregui. Born in the year 348 of the King’s Discovery, on the eve of the Virgin’s rising. Three-quarters human, one-quarter valco.
Her mouth opened in disbelief. That was it. Nothing regarding her father had been logged. She leafed to the next page and only found records of her younger cousins.
Don Alberto returned, lifting a cloud of dust as he dropped his family’s records on the desk. His lacked the gilded spine, the richly dyed leather.
Eva slammed the Serranos’ tome shut before he could glimpse what she had been looking for. The two masculine voices coming from outside the registry office were the sign her time was up, as was her interest in Don Alberto. “Oh, I completely forgot about Néstor,” she said.
Don Alberto watched her with rounded, disappointed eyes.
“We came together—got a ride from my grandmother. But he didn’t want to stay long, and we have errands to run in town.”
Eva navigated out of the labyrinthine shelves with Don Alberto in tow. She swung the door open right as the voices passed the hall. Luck was on her side. It was true, Néstor was looking for her, accompanied by another young man of his same age.
“Oi, Eva!” he called out.
He was lanky, had dark brown skin, and was dressed in a velvety tunic—his fine downtown clothes. They were all the rage in Galeno, yet they were more practical for the Segolean imperialists in their cold fortresses than in this city perched in the center of the Llanos. As Do?a Antonia’s son—her youngest, and the baby of the family—Néstor shared Eva’s brown-red eyes.
Don Jerónimo Contador was Néstor’s companion. He was the youngest grandson of the Contador patriarch. He had olive skin prone to turning a radiant shade of brown anytime he offered to help the ranchers working for his father, and his pointed nose made him resemble the Segolean statues of saints erected within the cathedral. His eyes, which Néstor raved much about, were chocolate colored and kind.
Eva made a show of grabbing Néstor by the hand and offered Don Alberto a grateful smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Don Alberto’s enthusiasm to spend time with her almost—almost—clenched her heart. After decades of being hindered by his introversion, he was desperate for a partner, or so went the gossip in town. Eva knew of him through her grandfather, but she couldn’t fathom ever being excited to spend the rest of her life with someone twice her age, no matter how much she understood his ache for companionship.
Néstor, Don Alberto, and Don Jerónimo exchanged quick and awkward greetings before Néstor turned to her and said, “We’re leaving soon.” Néstor knew Eva’s plan and wouldn’t leave without her. “Jerónimo’s carriage is ready for us and waiting outside.”
Eva opened her embroidered fan and aired her chest dramatically, where the lace concealing her cleavage clung to her from the sweat. “Thank you for the tour, Don Alberto, though I fear I’m not used to the rigors of clerical work. I’m very impressed by what you do,” she said, imitating the tone she knew her female cousins used so freely, acting like they were less than capable, hiding behind the men’s expectations of what they were supposed to do.
Néstor and Don Jerónimo smiled at Eva, seeing right through her fa?ade. Don Alberto ate it up.
“It’s no bother, Se?orita Eva,” he said, bringing her hand up to his meaty lips. “I’m just grateful my work interests you and that I get to spend time with you.”
Eva’s smile almost fractured at his honesty. She was rotten—exactly as her grandmother branded her.
Don Jerónimo led the way through the open hallway. The second-story balcony walkway of the capitol building overlooked a courtyard where a team of clerics received lectures on the office’s latest procedures. Pampered hedges brimming with hibiscuses created paths within the large courtyard, allowing private spaces where government dignitaries met for their deals. Ahead of her, Don Jerónimo’s low ponytail swayed with the tickle of a breeze. Eva closed her eyes, breathing in the freedom of leaving Don Alberto’s office behind.
“Did you find the information on your father?” Néstor said softly as he snaked his arm around the bend of her elbow.
Eva’s other hand traveled up to her curly bangs as the wind ruffled them out of place. Her fingers stopped, pressing against the pair of stunted antlers hidden within her rowdy light brown hair. Most everyone pretended Eva didn’t have them, and they could easily do it, as Eva kept her bangs puffy to conceal them. But the physical reminder was always there.
“There was nothing. He’s not even listed under mi mamá,” she replied bitterly.
Instead, the ledgers listed her blood with so much certainty. One-quarter valco. Eva didn’t personally know other valcos. They were a rare species, on the verge of extinction according to her grandparents, with their antlers crowning them, and red irises. Eva’s blood was too diluted for her to have inherited the eye color from her father, but her stunted antlers were her indelible proof that she was unlike her half sister and every other Serrano of Galeno. No other valcos lived in Galeno presently. Her father must have been here at least once. But this idea proved to be yet another dead end.
Néstor watched her curiously as they descended the steps to the ground floor. Before he could ask what was on her mind, Do?a Antonia emerged from an adjacent hall. Eva’s colossal grandmother strolled alongside the archbishop. Do?a Antonia wore a layered dark blue dress that could just as easily be confused for black, including the hat and flaps that covered the back of her neck and braided hair. The blue complemented her umber skin tone, and the shade of plum on her lips was modestly chosen, not much darker than her normal color.
The footsteps of Eva’s entourage piqued the archbishop’s interest. “Do?a Antonia, I didn’t know you came with company,” he announced with good humor as they intersected in the hallway, the melody of a nearby troupial flitting with the breeze.
“My dear Néstor is finally considering a position in politics,” Do?a Antonia announced with a raised eyebrow, prompting Néstor to do nothing but agree.
“A family of politicians. I wouldn’t expect anything less,” the archbishop said, then turned to Eva with thinly veiled distaste.